About a Girl
by Lively Angel
Summary: Jessica and Kilgrave meet once as innocent teenagers. When they meet as adults, will they realize they need each other? Please review. And, no, I did not change their personalities. Jessica is still the sarcastic, cynical P.I. we all know and love and Kilgrave is still a walking trigger who doesn't understand why what he does is wrong. They do fall in love at first sight.
1. Prologue: When We Were Young

**This takes place when they're still young and innocent teenagers. They don't fall in love in one night, some of this is just hormones and finding someone in similar circumstances. Kilgrave is not a walking trigger yet. Neither of them understand the full scope of their powers. Please review and let me know if I should continue! Look up the lyrics for Nirvana's "About a Grl." Last, but not least, I do not own Jessica Jones.**

Finally, there was silence.

Jessica breathed a sigh of relief as she took off her headphones and relished the peace the darkness brought her. Locking herself inside her room after school had become a habit. She and Patsy weren't getting along and that bitch who adopted her wasn't any better. After school, they tended to leave her alone for hours on end, but when they made it home, the yelling started.

Honestly, Jessica was a little surprised they hadn't made it on the evening news yet.

Jessica had fallen into the rather depressing routine of doing her homework, falling asleep to one of her CDs, and sneaking out as soon as they were in bed. That night was no exception. Jessica set her CD player gently onto her bedside table and got out of bed. She listened at her door for the sounds of Mrs. Walker creeping down the hallway after a few glasses of brandy. Instead, Jessica could only hear the silence.

Still, she stayed tense and ready to bolt as she eased her door open and continued down the stairs. She could just climb down the tree by her window, but she didn't want to risk breaking her neck. She made sure to skip the bottom stair and continued through the living room and into the kitchen. But she paused and crouched behind one of the cabinets when she saw him. Apparently, Mrs. Walker hadn't checked the locks before heading to bed, because a boy was rummaging through their fridge.

He looked to be around her age, at least from what she could see in the light from the fridge. What was weird was that he wasn't wearing a mask or in any hurry. He wasn't even looking for anything valuable, or at least not yet.

Something made Jessica approach him and tap him on the shoulder.

He spun around to face her with an oddly calm look on his face as he gets ready to say something. Little does she know, he's about to say, "Forget me and go back to sleep."

She put a finger to his lips and grinned mischievously. He stared as she bent to search one of the cabinets and offered him a bag of chips before taking a jar of peanut butter and a spoon for herself. She took his hand and led him back outside to the bench on the back porch.

She motioned for him to take a seat beside her before opening her jar.

"Why did you help me?" he asked her softly.

"There's no way you were going to find anything good in there," Jessica snorted before taking her first spoonful of peanut butter. "I thought it would be better to just help you find Patsy's stash. Her mom keeps the liquor in the top cabinets, doesn't go anywhere near the bottom ones."

"But why did you help me?"

"This isn't my house," Jessica shrugged. "I just know where everything is. I'll help you steal Mrs. Walker's jewelry if you want."

"I don't need it," he mumbled. "I just need a place to stay for the night."

"Stay in my room then. You'll have to leave before they wake up, but I don't see why not."

"I don't even know you. I could kill you in your sleep," he said. Or make you kill yourself, he thought.

Remembering the incident with the sink and noticing how frail he was, Jessica smirked. "I think I could fight you off."

Something in the bitter way she'd uttered that made him pause before opening the bag of chips she'd given him and saying, "I guess I'll stay here tonight then."

There was silence again, except for the crickets and the sounds of them enjoying their snacks. Jessica had always enjoyed the stillness of the night, and that hadn't changed after the accident. She had always felt as though time itself was absent even as the moon made its gradual journey across the sky. That, and the darkness gave her the freedom to pretend that the house behind her was her old one. If she turned around and went upstairs, she would hear her father snoring in the room by the stairs. The kitchen would be fully stocked from her mother's most recent trip to the grocery store. Phil might even be up playing video games. As long as she stayed out here with this guy and stayed quiet, she could pretend she'd sneaked out to meet a guy from school or something.

"Jessica," she said finally, knowing she couldn't keep up the ruse.

It took him a moment to realize she'd introduced herself without him telling her to. "Kevin."

"What are you doing out here, Kevin?" she asked.

"I'm alone," he replied. "My parents abandoned me."

Jessica frowned. "They left you? How long ago?"

"Two years ago. I left Britain this year when I decided to quit looking for them."

"But they couldn't have just left you like that," she insisted. "Did you call the police? Why did you come to New York?"

"I did, but I don't exactly trust adults after–" he stopped and grimaced. "Never mind, I just needed a fresh start so I came here."

"Still, don't you have a foster family or something?"

"Again, I did, but I ran away."

"Why?"

"Because I can make anyone do what I bloody want," he snapped.

"Bull," Jessica said, rolling her eyes.

"It's true," he assured her. "I could tell you to eat that jar, and you would try as hard as you could to fit it in your mouth."

Jessica laughed. "Prove it."

He was dying to. He wanted to tell her to go back to bed as he'd intended to earlier. But something stopped him. It had been so long since he'd last spoken to someone without making them do something for him. Commanding people to do things for him was making him paranoid. He didn't know how long it lasted, and he couldn't afford to stop. If he stopped, would they betray him like his parents didn't?

Maybe she could be his first friend.

"How?" he asked.

She grinned before closing the jar of peanut butter, putting the bag of chips beside it, and dragging him over to the fence. They took turns climbing over it before sprinting down the street hand in hand. They didn't have to run for long before they found someone walking their dog.

They stopped to rest on the grass and Kevin turned to whisper, "What do you want him to do?"

Jessica turned to look at the man. He was tall, balding, and, all in all, rather unimpressive. He was walking an old, black pit bull.

"Sir," Kevin called him. "Let my friend hold the leash."

The man handed her the leash and she rolled her eyes at Kevin. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"What do you want me to make him do?" he whispered back.

She thought for a moment as the man gazed back at them in confusion. "The chicken dance," she whispered back.

He snorted. "Do the chicken dance," he told the man.

Watching him, Jessica couldn't stop the giggles that escaped her even as she thought, he did it. He can control people. He can make them do anything he wants.

"Stop," Kevin demanded. Jessica gave the man back the leash. "Go and don't tell anyone about this. Forget this."

He nodded wordlessly and left.

"How does it work?" Jessica asked as soon as the man was out of earshot. "Does it ever stop working? Can you control it? How did you get it?"

"I have to be careful with how I phrase things," he said, amused. "It doesn't stop working. As for how I got it. . . I don't really want to talk about it."

"Alright," Jessica acquiesced. "But can't anyone ever just refuse to listen?"

"Not as far as I know," he shrugged. "I need this power to survive, though. If I didn't have this power, what guaranty would i have for three square meals a day and a warm bed to sleep in?"

"You don't think a foster home could give you all of that?" she asked him.

"Nope," he said. His dark brown hair, grown long enough to curl around the collar of his Oxford shirt, hid his expression from the light of the street lamps, but Jessica thought she saw his lip curl in a sneer.

"You don't trust easily," she stated.

"How can I when the two people I trusted the most left me to fend for myself?"

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

He turned his head to look at her. At first glance, she was as unimpressive to him as that man. With eyes and lips too large for her face and skin too pale to be healthy, she was still a teenager just like him. Those eyes were gazing back at him so earnestly awaiting his response. He couldn't afford to trust anyone he couldn't control, and he didn't think he could control her. He didn't want to. She was the only person he'd ever been able to be honest with.

He could tell her to walk away and forget all about him, but he didn't want to do that either.

"If you would tell me your story, I might," he said, careful not to force her.

"What's there to tell?" she asked uncomfortably.

"Why are you living with people you don't even like for a start?"

"Well, unlike you, I didn't have a choice," she answered. "Why are you breaking into houses for food anyway?"

"I like to pretend," he admitted sheepishly, waving a hand at the houses in front of them. "I wish I could have grown up somewhere so dreadfully normal. But I was sick, and most of my childhood was spent in either a hospital room or a laboratory. It wasn't long after I got better that my parents left me."

"The place isn't too different from where I used to live, but, at the same time, it's completely different," Jessica sighed. "My parents and my little brother died in a car accident not too long ago. I don't have any other family so Patsy and her mother took me in as a publicity stunt. I wouldn't mind so much if Mrs. Walker wasn't such a crazy bitch."

He chuckled. "Is that it?"

"Well, there's that and the other thing," she said.

He waited.

"After the accident, I got stronger," she said hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean emotionally or. . . ?"

Instead of responding, Jessica drew back her arm, balling her hand into a fist, before punching a hole into the concrete. Even she was surprised at what she'd done. She hadn't had too many chances to test her strength since the incident with the sink. Her knuckles were barely scratched.

Kevin took her hand and looked at her knuckles in amazement, and possibly even reverence. "How did this happen?"

"I don't know," she said, trying to draw her hand away, but he kept a tight hold on it as his eyes met hers.

There was a mutual understanding in their gaze as they stood there together on the deserted street corner. No more words were needed so she led him back to the Walkers' home and they put away the chips and peanut butter before going to her bedroom. When she left room for him on the bed, he slid in beside her without a word.

"If you leave before I wake up, leave a note," she told him.

"Ok," he agreed. "But only if I can come back."

"You can, as long as you don't try to control me."

"I don't want to."

And there they slept deeply and dreamlessly, back to back, as the night wore on.

They woke to Patsy screaming in the doorway. Jessica bolted out of the bed, but Kevin just sat up and groaned, "Shut up."

She did, but her mother wasn't far behind her. "Who the fuck are you?" she screeched.

"Jessica's friend, and I'm always welcome here, no questions asked."

"You're always welcome here," she repeated back with the friendliest smile Jessica had ever seen her give. Patsy glared back at him.

"Leave," he told Mrs. Walker. As soon as she was gone, Kevin turned back to Patsy. "I assume you're Jessica's sister, nice to meet you."

"Tell her she can talk, Kevin," Jessica told him.

"You can talk, but keep an even tone," he commanded.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked as soon as she could speak again.

"Kevin."

"Don't call me Patsy," she said. "And that goes for you, too, Jessica. You know how I feel about that."

"Then what do you want us to call you?"

She thought for a moment. "Trish."

"I like it, but really anything's better than Patsy," Jessica said.

"So, who are you?" Trish asked. "And how did you do that? Why were you in here?"

"He needed a place to crash for the night," Jessica replied for him. "The real question is: what are you doing in here? This is my room."

"We're late for school."

"Dammit," Jessica muttered before beginning her search for clean clothes.

"But how did he–?"

"None of your business," Jessica said before slamming the door in her face. After turning the lock, she found a clean pair of ripped jeans on the floor.

"You didn't have to lock her out," Kevin told her, still lounging on the bed.

"Yeah, I did. I tolerate her, I don't actually like her," Jessica grumbled. "She was there when I found about my strength, and I found out about her mother being a psychotic bitch. As long as I don't try to save her, we're good."

"You're not a morning person," he observed.

"No, I'm not. Don't you have to go to school?"

"It won't matter if I'm a little late."

"But it will matter if I am," she huffed before heading to the bathroom and leaving him alone in her room. He waited for a moment, listening for her footsteps, but she didn't come back. He heard the shower turning on down the hall as he stood from the bed and scanned her room. It looked like the standard teenage girl's room with clothes and papers strewn about the floor. He opened the CD player to find Nirvana's Bleach ready to listen to.

So, she likes grunge, he thought. He'd never heard anything like that. He mostly listened to the classics: Beatles, Rolling Stones, Pink Floyd, etc. He'd never had the chance to listen to much else. Pop and rap tended to get on his nerves. He did enjoy classical music when he had the time and the inclination to listen to it.

He turned to look at her desk, a pitiful little thing in the corner with a few textbooks piled on the side next to her book bag. He walked over to flip through the notebook she'd placed in the center of the desk. It was full of observations she'd made of the teachers and the students. Her math teacher was having an affair with the science teacher. Both were married men. The head cheerleader did cocaine.

He whistled impressed before setting it down when he heard the shower turn off. On the surface her life was unimpressive, but beneath it all she was a detective in the making. She burst into the room with her hair still wet and the belt on her jeans unbuckled. He fought a smile as she searched frantically for her other combat boot.

He wondered vacantly what she would look like in silk and diamonds.

Finding it under her bed, she looked up at him with wide eyes. "You're still here."

"I'm trying not to be insulted," he said, but he was still fighting a grin.

"Don't be, I was just surprised. You want breakfast?" Jessica asked. "Mrs. Walker isn't some world class chef but her eggs are decent and I can fry bacon without burning it. Sorry, we don't have cereal, too much sugar for Patsy. Usually, we wouldn't have bacon either, but – "

"Eggs and bacon are fine," he assured her.

She gave a sigh of relief before attempting to fit all of her textbooks into her backpack.

"Jessica, Trish, you're going to be late," Mrs. Walker yelled up the stairs.

"It's too early to play Happy Families," Jessica mumbled by way of explanation as she tugged him by the hand down to the kitchen.

"Is it always this lively in the mornings?"

"It's not like this where you live?"

"It's usually quiet. I just wake up, go to a cafe or something for food, and head straight to school."

"Alone? I'm not sure if that's more or less depressing."

"I'm used to it."

He sat down at the table to watch her fry the bacon she promised him as Mrs. Walker proceeded to pile scrambled eggs onto his plate with a smile that bordered on disturbing. Patsy eyed him with obvious wariness as she ate her breakfast in small bites. She was the exact opposite of Jessica, pretty in a doll like way with delicate mannerisms. Jessica was brash where she was graceful. And still, Kevin found himself watching Jessica with more interest.

"So where are you from, Kevin?" Mrs. Walker asked.

"Don't ask about my past, Mrs. Walker," he demanded.

Jessica snorted and piled the bacon onto a plate before leaving it in the center of the table next to the eggs. Kevin took two pieces and ate them with relish. He hadn't had bacon in ages.

They finished breakfast without another word.

He followed Jessica to the bus stop and took her hand as they waited for the bus. She didn't pull away until the bus stopped and the crowd that had gathered around them thinned as they all go in. "Are you really coming back?" she asked him.

He hesitated. "Maybe not."

She frowned in disappointment, but she understood. Quickly, she pulled him down by the collar and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Thanks for a fun night."

Kevin watched, stunned, as she walked away with a wink, a smile, and a spring in her step. And it would be years before he would see that smile again.


	2. Fire and Gasoline

**Quick and short update because I felt inspired. Tell me if you think I have any of the facts wrong since it's been a while since I've seen the show. It's very unlikely that I'll be updating this often, but maybe if you review, who knows? Kilgrave is back to being the walking trigger in this chapter, so the cuteness factor is gone. Review!**

He applauded after watching her defend the man being mugged. She hadn't changed a bit, short, dark hair, pale skin, doe eyes. And yet she was gruffer around the edges with more cynicism under her belt. Looking at her, he could tell she was not the same girl who would kiss him on a lark knowing she would never see him again, her mysterious stranger. But she was still Jessica, the girl who would help anyone with hardly a second thought. He'd changed too much, though, and she could see that in the confident way he acted with the two women clinging to him.

He told them to leave after growing bored with their lackluster responses, and just turned to look at her. She stood, truly confident and unafraid of him, leather jacket and fingerless gloves protecting her from the cold. He grinned at her despite his underlying nerves.

"Do you want to get some Chinese?" he asked hopefully. Part of him wanted to change it into a command but seeing the way her eyes narrowed at him mistrustfully, he'd decided against it. This was Jessica. And he'd decided long ago against controlling her.

"You want to get dinner?" she asked with wide eyes. "After watching me kick the shit out of two thugs, you want to get dinner? With me?"

"Would you rather take them to the hospital first?" he asked politely. "You don't look injured."

"I'm not," she muttered. "These guys were just a couple of sacks of shit."

"Well, them why don't you let me buy you a drink?" he compromised. "You look like you could use one after getting your hands dirty." He held a hand out for her to take.

She walked past him without even looking at it. "I'll take you up on that drink, but I'm not hungry."

They went to a godawful bar in Hell's Kitchen where the drinks were cheap and the bartender had only recently been released on parole. He sat across a small, wooden table from her and tried hard not to grimace at the stench of the place as she threw back a shot of whiskey. She ran a hand through her hair and scowled at the man who was eyeing her from the bar.

She's too thin, Kilgrave thought. She won't even smile. Smile, dammit.

But his thoughts didn't think count as demands so she frowned and reached for the bottle to pour herself another glass. Kilgrave pulled it to his end of the table. "No more until you get up and buy yourself something to eat."

She glared at him. "The food's terrible here."

"Get yourself—" he stopped, and gritted his teeth. "Please,"

"Have you ever said that before?" she asked not unkindly, but more curiously.

"I haven't asked anyone to do anything for me in years," he grumbled. "So would you please get up and get yourself something a little more substantial? Nachos, perhaps?"

She came back with a burger and he rolled his eyes. But he was satisfied. She didn't eat all of it of course. Drops of grease and ketchup fell onto her plate as she took a few bites before putting it down to reach for the bottle. He held it close. "This burger tastes like ass," she complained.

He resisted the urge to snap "eat it" before wrapping his own lips around the mouth of the bottle and taking a swig.

"That's not fair," she complained.

"Neither is me being here instead of a five star restaurant," he snapped.

She took another bite of a burger. "Let me guess, you never pay. I bet you never even wait for the bill."

"What's wrong with that?" he asked defensively. "People have to wait ages for the check. If I've gotten what I've wanted and I don't have to pay, why should I?"

She shook her head and took another bite. "You're an asshole."

"Because I don't pay?"

"Because you don't care. They have to pay the bills somehow, those waiters have families to take care of. We're not kids anymore, Kevin. You can't just take what you want!"

"Who's to say I don't deserve good food and a warn bed free of charge?" he asked, cheeks flushed with anger. "You don't know what it was like before my parents left!"

"No," she replied calmly. "But that doesn't mean you deserve the world. And I think a part of you agrees with me."

He chuckled. "Right. Jessica, I've been living like this for years. What makes you think I'm going to change now?"

"You haven't left the table yet."

He quirked a brow. "Only because you've helped me before. Even though I didn't need your help, I did appreciate it. But that doesn't mean I believe you can change me."

"Maybe it doesn't, but the fact that your willing to stay and listen instead of leaving or telling me to shut up means a lot."

His lips parted to command her to do just that but before he could even start she was leaning across the snatch back her bottle. She pushed the last bite of her burger his way. "You eat it."

Despite himself, his lips quirked into ridiculous smile as he did just that. She was right, he realized. The burger did taste like arse. But the smile on her face when he nearly choked on that single bite was a little worth it.

"I wasn't serious," she snickered.

"Next time, I should pick the restaurant," he coughed as he took out his wallet to leave a few bills on the table.

"Only if I can afford it," she argued. "I'll let you pay this time just because you're such a pleasure to be around, but if there is a next time, I'm paying."

""A gentleman always pays."

"Gentlemen don't tell women what to do."

He stopped and looked down at her. The amiable smile was gone and the judgement in her eyes made him want to squirm. "Jessica..."

"You're the one guy who can get what he wants when he want it," she said in a low voice. "I'm not under any sort of delusion that if you wanted to fuck me on this table, you couldn't just tell me to beg for it. There's no way you haven't done it before."

He sat frozen and watched as she finished the bottle with one last swallow before slamming it down on the table. He heard it crack from the bottom. The music and loud chatter stopped.

"The only reason I sat through a meal with you was because you owed me from that night years ago, but if I see you again, I don't know if I can be this fucking nice. That's why next time we do this, I pay. Because I don't know if you'll survive the meal."

She started toward the door, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. The cold fury in her eyes when she looked back at him nearly stopped him, but he scribbled his phone number down on one of the brown napkins before putting it in her hand. "I go by Kilgrave now, not Kevin. If you ever change your mind or just need some help, please call me."

She would have answered him with some slight about his new name or thrown him across the room if he hadn't gotten up and left before she got the chance. Through the window, she could see him speak to the owner of a Rolls Royce across the street and get in the backseat like the bastard he truly was. She looked down at the napkin and considered shoving it down the throat of the guy who'd been checking her out all night. Instead, she shoved it into her pocket, flipped him the bird, and left.


	3. How to Save a Life

On the way back to his penthouse apartment, he thought back on their conversation. Had she noticed any of his subtler manipulations? Telling her to call him if she either changed her mind or needed his help had been an act of desperation. Usually, he was more careful with his words but the derision in her eyes had stopped him cold. Kilgrave wasn't always one to keep his promises anyway, not even to himself.

What was wrong with controlling her a little less overtly anyway? He'd always gotten what he wanted. This time it would just be more slowly. He ignored the unfamiliar feeling gnawing at his insides and focused on the memory of her pupils dilating ever so slightly after his last words. He rarely used commands like that because they required at least some amount of voluntary compliance. If Jessica still wanted to throw his number away and never see him again, she still could, she would just be much less likely to.

Kilgrave sighed as he remembered her flashing eyes and pale cheeks reddened with anger. In truth, a part of him had wanted to order her down on her knees, but in a bar like that it didn't interest him as much as it usually would. Kilgrave remembered seeing people less like objects when he was Kevin, but it was a thick fog separating him and that naive boy who didn't grasp what having the world at your fingertips was like. Meeting Jessica happened soon before becoming Kilgrave so she was the clearest light in the fog.

She was still so good, he groaned internally. How could someone so similar turn out so different?

"We're here, sir," the man driving the car announced in a robotic voice.

"Open my door," he snapped.

The man complied and Kilgrave rubbed a hand through his hair. He needed a real burger after that piece of shit at the bar. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked for messages. None so far. Well, it was a little soon, and he imagined her as being reasonably strong-willed. That was fine, she would need him eventually.

In the meantime, he would have someone follow her for at least a day. He needed to know where she lived, if she lived alone. He wasn't necessarily concerned for her safety, but he was curious about her. Did she go to such bars regularly? Did she have any friends?

He wondered if he pulled her out of her world and into his own, would she fall as hard as he had? He unlocked the door to his new temporary home and nodded absently to the woman who sat stock still on the couch. He opened his mouth as if to say something and her eyes widened infinitesimally. He shut his mouth and gave her a polite smile instead. She was a petite woman with brown hair and delicate features.

But, he wasn't truly interested in her, only her musical abilities. In the next room over, he found a man in his thirties he'd ordered her to pay no attention to. The walls of the penthouse were soundproof but that hadn't prevented him from screaming himself hoarse while Kilgrave was gone.

"Are you ready to tell me what I need to know?" Kilgrave asked with utmost patience. He was in an unusually good mood after seeing Jessica.

"There is nothing left," the man said softly. "The files were burned and deleted as you demanded. There is no proof!"

"There has to be something. Perhaps a disc or flash drive?" Kilgrave muttered. "I'll leave you to mull it over."

"No, no, please! Let me speak to my wife!"

"Tell me if there's anything left and I'll consider it," Kilgrave said. He'd been doing this the hard way all week with no results, it was time to try his usual mode of operation. Though, sometimes the hard way could be entertaining.

"Reva Connors has a flash drive," he said quickly. "Please, let me speak to my wife!"

"Fine, but don't tell her where you are or what's going on. And try to sound normal," Kilgrave said, tossing the man's phone to him. It fell at his feet and he stared down at it with wide eyes. "Pick it up," Kilgrave said, rolling his eyes. "And do not call anyone but your wife."

He left the man in tears as he fumbled with the buttons on the old flip phone. Kilgrave found one of his tall, burly bodyguards at the entrance to the building. "When he's done speaking on the phone, kill him."

The bodyguard nodded and hurried up the steps to the apartment.

The other one glanced at him uncertainly, ready to question his order, before wisely deciding against and resuming his stoic persona. They didn't know the limits to his power, nobody did. He would have to follow that man for the rest of his life if he was going to keep this a secret.

Kilgrave looked at the screen of his phone again. Still, no message.

It took four weeks for Jessica to give in and message him. She was stuck with a hostage situation in which the man involved was both a psychic and a psycho. To put it simply he was a telepathic schizophrenic.

Hopefully, the only one in existence.

"Polly's stuck in her head," he shouted, pushing the barrel of the gun against a woman's temple. He was threatening to shoot her if Tricky didn't come back soon. Who was Tricky? Nobody seemed to know. "I'm going to let Polly out if he doesn't come soon. Polly's scared."

"I'm Polly!" she screeched, digging her sharp red nails into his arm clutching her middle. "I'm scared!"

"No, you're just trying to confuse me," he slurred. "Polly is inside you."

Stupid asshole, Jessica thought.

"Jessie's mean!" he yelled, waving the gun around wildly before bringing it back to the woman's head. His hand was trembling slightly. "I'll get Jessie out when I'm done with Polly if Tricky doesn't get here in five minutes!"

Jessica sighed. If she even thought about a move, he'd know. A man beside her muttered, "Crazy ass been livin' on this street since last month. Heard me thinkin' 'bout cheatin' on my wife last week. He's famous 'round here."

"Any idea who Tricky is?" she asked.

"His dead cat," he replied. "He swore he used to see his ghost or somethin'."

Great, so we're counting on a dead cat to show up, she thought.

"Tricky isn't dead!" he shouted. A pedestrian took a step forward behind him and he turned around and swung the gun in his face. "Get the fuck away from me."

Jessica sighed and looked down at her phone. Strength didn't solve problems like this. She sent him a quick message with the address and told him to come as quickly as possible. If he wasn't here in five minutes, she was going to have to make a snap decision which would most likely end with both her and Polly getting shot.

Two minutes later, he pulled up in a Mercedes Benz.

"I suppose I should've expected this," he said, boredom evident in his tone as he sauntered over to her. "You would never ask for just the pleasure of my company."

"Shut up and end this," she mumbled.

He looked over at the man holding the gun to the woman's head and sighed. "Isn't this what the police are for?"

"Kevin," Jessica snapped. "He's about to pull the trigger if his dead cat doesn't get here in a few minutes. Do something."

"Alright," he said before clearing his throat. "Everyone shut up and leave."

The crowd began to dissipate enough for him to get closer to the two. "Pull the gun away from her head," Kilgrave drawled.

The man did so, but he whimpered. "Tricky..."

"Tricky isn't coming," Kilgrave said. "Let her go."

He released the woman who fell to her knees in relief.

"Go," Kilgrave barked at her. "And don't look back."

She sprinted away without question or another look at the pitiful man who stood still with his gun at his side. A fat tear rolled down his cheek. "Tricky said he'd come back today."

"You really want to see Tricky again?" Kilgrave asked with his head tilted to the side. "Do the world a favor, and put the gun in your mouth."

"No, Kevin," Jessica said firmly even as the man obeyed.

Before either of them could say another word, the gun went off.

"I guess I didn't have to waste my breath," Kilgrave said, putting his hands in his pockets and staring curiously at the limp form.

"You gave him the idea," Jessica said, shaking her head.

"All in all, problem solved with one less germ to ruin the gene pool," Kilgrave reasoned. "I believe you owe me Chinese?"

"You're disgusting," she remarked, walking away from him.

"A promise is a promise. I'm asking for a meal, nothing more."

"With people like you, there's always something more."

"People like me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Jessica, I think you have me all wrong. I'm not some comic book villain who plans to take over the world."

She snorted. "Only because you live in your own little one. You know you could tell the queen of England to give you the Crown Jewels or you could take over the world with just a few choice words here and there. You just don't want to. The same way I doubt you want to help people."

"Jessica, unlike you, I've never had the chance to."

"That's an excuse," she said, turning back to look at him. "We're both people with just a slight advantage over other people. The difference is me going out and looking for people to save."

"Can we talk about this over dinner?" he groaned.

"Fine," she said, turning away from him. "Follow me, I know a place around here."

He followed her to yet another dump on some street corner nowhere near Chinatown. The menu was in Chinese and the woman behind the counter spoke with a heavy accent and a low voice. But Jessica ordered without difficulty and joined him back at the table.

"An old friend of mine used to work here," she explained. "He translated the meals on the menu so I know what to get whenever I come by here."

"So you do like Chinese."

"No, I don't come by here much," she said, looking at him steadily. "And don't think this means that I forgive you for what happened back there. A man killed himself."

"Only because he wanted to."

"No, because you planted the idea in his head," she hissed. "He was telepathic."

"And now he's not," Kilgrave said. "Look, what would have happened if he'd lived? He could have gotten to the hospital, taken some medication, and maybe the hallucinations would stop, but he would still be hearing voices that would be driving him mad all over again. You and I are lucky, we can see what we can do. But he couldn't cope with it."

"Don't you feel any remorse? That man died right in front of you!"

"And nearly got blood on my new shoes," Kilgrave sneered. "I didn't even know him, my hand was nowhere near the trigger, where does remorse fit in? He was a waste of oxygen."

Jessica's lips thinned. "This is why we can't be friends anymore. You live in this fantasy where the universe revolves around you."

"Then, tell me—" his lips pressed shut and her eyes narrowed. "Can you tell me what I did wrong?"

"You could have started by treating that man like a human being," she practically snarled. "I may not have the greatest moral compass, but at least I have one. And that man should have gone to get the help he needed. You could have told him to do that."

"But what good would it have done?" Kilgrave asked, frustrated. "Not every mental patient takes his meds on a regular basis. He could have been doing the same thing next month!"

"And we could have sent him back," she said, her hands making fists. "Look, the goal is to save as many lives as possible, good or bad. It's not our job to play God."

"Then why save lives at all? Who's to say they weren't meant to die? I'm trying to understand, Jessica, I really am, but it just seems so much simpler to do as I like."

Jessica rubbed her fingers into her temples and resisted the urge to wrap them around his neck. Was he serious? "You're a fucking sociopath," she said as if it were some kind of revelation.

He frowned. "Is that your professional opinion?" he asked sarcastically.

She shook her head and got up from the table. "You're beyond help."

"No, I—" he started to reach across the table for her wrist.

"Don't touch me. I'm not leaving, I'm just getting the food."

She brought back dumplings, lo mein, egg rolls, sweet and sour chicken, and fortune cookies. Simple fare, but still not as bad as he was expecting given the last place they'd gone to. It was almost excellent. She didn't eat as much as he did, just a few of the dumplings and some chicken, but it was enough to satisfy his concern for her health.

"I can always come with you on these little excursions of yours," he said once he'd finished the lo mein. "I may not have a moral compass, but that doesn't I can't help and learn from you like I did today."

"Why would you want to help or learn from me?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because I want us to stay in touch," he said, laying a hand on one of hers.

She pulled it away. "Because I could be useful."

"That, too," he answered honestly. "I may need your help with something. Just not yet. But I truly do want to stay close to you."

She watched him cautiously. Whatever he wanted from her wasn't anything good, but could she walk away? He had last time, but couldn't he stop her with a word if she tried to leave right now? Any semblance of civility could be gone if she left this table at that moment. Could she be so sure that she had the strength of will to resist him? "Okay, you can be my sidekick. But with five months' probation. One step out of line and we're done. And I break a body part of my choice. You can't ask me for the favor until after."

Five months should give her the time she needed, there was no way she could trust him. She doubted if he could even learn from her, but that wouldn't stop her from trying to get through to him. The least she could do was to find out how he came to be like this, so callous. Callous was the understatement of the year, she decided, taking out her wallet.

"I can pay," he said, pulling out his as well.

"No, you can't. I'll pay, my cash was earned not stolen. Besides, it's my turn."

"How is it stealing if they hand it over?" he asked, puzzled.

Jessica shook her head and punched him in the shoulder as she walked past. He grunted in pain and she smirked. Maybe she'd hit him harder than any normal person would, but at least she hadn't broken his arm. As she paid, she realized that that was probably setting a bad example and wanted to groan against.

This was going to be like teaching right and wrong to a toddler who couldn't give less of a fuck about stealing a candy bar. He would be looking to her for guidance on everything while still hoping to get something for himself in the end.


	4. Holding Out for a Hero

A week later, they were chasing a serial killer. The normal superheroes chased super villains who plotted to either take over the world or just destroy it. Jessica usually chased the filth that covered the streets. She wasn't a regular superhero who went out of her way to save people, instead she saved whoever she could whenever the opportunity presented itself. Still, Kilgrave decided to surprise her with asking if they could go after the Red Robin.

The Red Robin was the serial killer who'd been haunting the streets for the past month or so with already three kills under his belt. He usually scratched a mark on the victim's skin in the shape of a bird in flight.

"And how are we supposed to find this guy?" she asked incredulously. "Got anything? Because, as far as I know, neither if us can read minds or track people down like blood hounds."

"You're a private detective," he shrugged. "You can find him, and I can stop him."

"Right, let me just find my crystal ball," she quipped, yanking open the drawer to the desk she had her feet rested on. She reached in and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "Whoops, must have left it in my magic robe. You seem to have private detective confused with psychic."

"You could talk to the families and friends of the victims," he suggested. "Maybe break into their homes, look through their things."

"Oh, I'm sure the cops haven't done that yet," she said sarcastically. "Why are you trying to get me to look into this case anyway?"

"Because all you've ever done is run into trouble," he complained. "You've never looked for trouble, you've never planned things out, and actively gone looking for the real criminals!"

"So, now you want to go crime fighting?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I want to do something other sit here and listen to you drone on about how morally depraved I am just because I use my ability for personal gain!"

"Kevin, you're a manipulative bastard who takes what he wants without even asking first. Do we really need to have this talk again? You nearly talked a man into killing himself," she held up a hand before he could start. "And yes, nearly is still wrong."

"If everything I do is wrong, how am I ever going to know if I do anything right?"

"Do you want me to give you a gold star every time you save someone?"

"Won't you just give me a bloody clue?" he snapped before stopping cold. That was close and they both knew it. "Or don't. Your choice."

She took a swig from the bottle. "Right. Kevin, if I told you, that would be cheating. You don't learn anything when someone tells you the answer. And stupid questions like asking what you would do with a wallet you found on the street won't get us anywhere."

Kilgrave fell silent as he stood up to pace back and forth in the cramped office space. She didn't want him anywhere near her place so they rented the space. Otherwise, they met for dinner and chatted about their mundane lives. The mundane life he allowed her to know about anyway. They both knew he omitted key facts like who he controlled regularly. He only ever told her about the people he asked for small "favors" from. The casual passersby.

"Can't you give me a hint?" he pleaded.

"I already did," she said lowly. "You don't get people killed and you don't take things that don't rightfully belong to you without at least asking first. If they say no, you leave them alone. It doesn't matter how nicely you phrase things. Or how nice the jacket," she said, eyeing the one he wore now.

"He gave it to me," he protested.

"After you told him to."

He fell back into his chair and ran a hand over his face. "Do you know how hard it is to be careful of how I say things?"

"You seem to be doing fine with me."

"Only because I'm careful with you. And it's bloody irritating."

"Then, tell me to shut up and go away."

"I can't.

She looked up to meet his eyes then. They were downcast and his brow was furrowed with as much confusion as she was feeling. "You tell everyone else to."

"Yeah, but," he waved a hand between the two of them. "You're Jessica Jones, the girl who gave me food and a bed because you wanted to. If it was anyone else, I would've had to stop them from calling the police before telling them to believe it was a dream and to go back to bed. Back then, I was just the pitiful kid who was left behind after being treated like some science experiment."

"You never did tell me about your parents."

"They're dead and gone as far as I'm concerned. I tried to find them, but I couldn't."

"Wait, you said you were treated like some kind of experiment?"

"I had a neurodegenerative disease growing up. They cured if but the cure also gave me this nice little side-effect."

"How old were you?"

"Ten," he replied.

She watched him dwell in the past for a moment before clearing her throat. "Well, Kilgrave, Kevin, whatever your name is, you can't keep living in your shitty past."

"What?"

"It's obvious, you're like this because you had a shitty childhood. You feel like you deserve whatever you can get after that. Whether it's free sex or a free jacket," she went on. "But, here's the thing, you're raping women and stealing."

He wrinkled his nose. "I hate that word."

"Rape?" she asked deliberately.

"It sounds so vulgar," he said with sincere contempt. "It's not rape if they say they want to do it, is it? If they take off their clothes, get on their knees, and—"

"Stop," she said, pulling back her arm with the bottle still in hand as if she was threatening to throw it. "If you told them they wanted it, it's still rape. You don't need to rip off their clothes or threaten then to make them do it."

"So, what you're saying is that I can't talk during sex?"

"What I'm saying is that you shouldn't talk at all," she muttered, pouring some of the whiskey into the glass she'd also brought with her. She hesitated before asking, "Want any of this?"

"Are you offering me your precious liquor?" he asked in mock surprise.

"You're not hiding anything for once."

""How do you know?"

"You're not avoiding your issues for once. You actually told me something about yourself, so you deserve a reward."

"I thought you said no gold stars."

"For doing the right thing."

"Isn't telling the truth doing the right thing?"

"I didn't expect you to," she admitted, pulling out a second glass and pouring him two fingers.

He grimaced, knowing it was the cheap stuff, but he took the glass anyway and forced himself to swallow. It wasn't awful. "I'm bringing the alcohol next time."

"You're paying for it next time," she corrected.

"Oh, come on, it's booze, not people!"

"But people need you to pay for the booze to support their families."

"Ugh, fucking morals."

"Get some while you can," she snarked.

"So, we're not going after this guy then?"

"Where would we start if we did?"

"His first victim," he answered quickly. "She had no connections to anyone but her abusive boyfriend and the police simply assumed it was him who did it until the next victim when they noticed the bird on both of their left shoulders. Who's to say they didn't botch that investigation and fabricate evidence to make it an open and shut case?"

She blinked and put her bottle back down on the desk. "You've really looked into this."

"She was a beautician in the Bronx who missed work a lot because of her boyfriend."

"You questioned the leading detective on this case, didn't you?" she asked shrewdly.

"So what if I did?" he challenged.

"I'm just surprised. Did they fabricate evidence?"

"They planted the boyfriend's DNA on the body."

"How can we be so sure the Robin isn't him?"

"We can't."

An hour later, they took the subway to find the boyfriend, Sam Verona, at the apartment he'd moved into after his release. He was a tall, broad man with a balding head and an elaborate tattoo of a cross on his arm. He had puncture wounds in his arms and bloodshot eyes to match.

"What do you want?" he slurred.

"We were friends with Rebecca and we just—"

"Let us in, Sam," Kilgrave said without preamble. He opened the door wider and stepped aside. The sight that greeted them was a room full of bottles, with spoons, a lighter, and syringes on the ground next to a mattress lying flat on the ground. Kilgrave sniffed and pushed past the man who stumbled and caught himself on the wall. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we? Tell us about Rebecca."

"Kevin," Jessica said in warning.

"What? Is it better to lie and pretend we knew her? I doubt he'd care."

She appeared conflicted, but before she could respond, the man asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Junkies make the best pawns," he told her, smiling grimly. "Were you there the night she died?"

"No," he replied dreamily. "We had a fight. I didn't expect her to threaten me with a gun so I left. Rebecca was weird for weeks before, though. Kept sneaking out."

"Tell me, do you know where to?"

"No, but I thought it was another guy."

"Isn't it always?" Kilgrave said, rolling his eyes. "Now, see that syringe over there? You are going to—"

Jessica clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him out of the apartment.

"I told you, we don't make that call!" she exclaimed, trembling in anger.

"I'm sorry, I may have gotten a little carried away," he apologized, straightening his jacket.

"Control yourself, or I'll get carried away." He shivered at her dark tone and followed her out of the building. They took a taxi to Rebecca's old apartment in the Bronx. By now, the room had been cleaned and her belongings were long gone since the police didn't spend long on her case. Jessica knocked on the door to the right of it.

They both could hear a woman yelling on the other side of the door for them to wait a few minutes while she got dressed. Jessica reached over to grasp his hand in a virtually crushing grip. "Talk and I break your fingers," she said brightly. "We're doing this my way."

"Yes, dear," he said dismally. Her grip tightened and he winced before nodding slightly.

The woman who opened the door was in her mid-twenties with dark skin and striking, blue eyes. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the door jamb, showcasing her toned muscles. "Are you the new neighbors?" she asked, gesturing to the door across.

"Yeah, I'm Jess and this is my husband, Kevin. We just wanted to introduce ourselves to the neighbors and ask a few questions."

"Like?" Her eyes thinned in suspicion.

"We wanted to ask about Rebecca."

"Rebecca was offed by some psycho. Don't tell me that's the reason you moved here."

"No, Miss..."

"Alyssa Ramos," she said stiffly. "And we don't get too many people around here knocking on doors just to introduce themselves."

"We're just worried," Jessica lied, doing her best to maintain the delicate damsel routine.

""'Bout the Robin?" she asked. "If you've been reading the papers then you know he hasn't struck twice in the same place."

"Not yet, anyway."

Alyssa looked them up and down, eyed their empty hands and unimpressive bodies before finally letting them in and locking the door behind them. In contrast to Sam's pit of an apartment, they found the place immaculate with inspirational quotes scrawled on the walls. Pictures of family filled the shelves of her bookcase along with books on motivation and even a book on existentialism sat on one of her lower shelves. Kilgrave sat in her soft leather couch and sighed in contentment.

Jessica found a page filled with tally marks by the door. Written neatly in print on the top was Sobriety is not over-rated. There were thirty three marks.

"You know, I really do believe that honesty is the best policy," Alyssa said, rejoining them after a quick walk to the kitchen. "And I met my neighbor last night. That weight builder, Marty."

She had a gun pointed directly at Jessica now, her arms steady.

"Who are you? And why hasn't he said a word since you knocked on my door?"

"I'd be happy to talk if that's what it takes for you to calm down," he piped up.

"Shut up, Kevin," Jessica snarled. "I don't need you to talk right now."

"Oh, so are you going to tell her to put the gun down? I think I would be more persuasive. Put the gun down, Alyssa."

She froze, her muscles rigid.

"Put the gun down and look at me," he insisted. She obeyed. "Good, now tell us what happened the night Rebecca died."

"She knocked on my door at midnight," she said dully. "I don't like having people over after ten so I didn't answer. The screaming woke me up at one. I went outside and I thought I saw this guy, but he had his head covered and I'm not the type of girl who goes looking for trouble. Not anymore."

"Did you notice anything off about him? Remember!"

"He-he was taller than me, most guys aren't."

"Any tattoo, anything!"

"Nothing," she choked out.

"Fine." Kilgrave said. "We're done. Don't touch that gun for the next hour and don't even think of calling the police or saying anything about us to anyone. If you think of dialing the police, cut off your index—"

"Kevin," Jessica spoke up sharply.

"What? It's not like I was going to tell her to cut out her tongue. She can still call an ambulance if it happens."

"We're going."

"Just don't call the police," Kilgrave said, finally, following Jessica out.

They left her apartment and Jessica shoved him up against the wall. "One step out of line," she snarled.

"No one's died today," he said. "I'm still learning. Impulse control is something I find very tricky."

"Yeah, well, figure it out or you'll have trouble taking a piss for the rest of your life." She let him go with that warning.

They took the stair down from the second floor and met a fretful looking man who twitched as he passed by Jessica. He carried several books close to his chest. One of which was Man's Search for Meaning. Kilgrave watched the man shuffle up the stairs to the second floor. Seeing Kilgrave, the man stumbled and fell a few steps, dropping all of his books in the process.

Jessica and Kilgrave knelt to pick them up, noticing the rest of the titles as they did. "Are you a student?" Jessica asked.

"Yeah," he stammered out. "I'm studying philosophy and psychology."

Kilgrave hummed and flipped open the cover of Frankl's book. Jessica could tell the boy wanted to say something but instead he pressed his lips into a thin line. He was hunched over in that way most self-conscious people tended to stand fidgeting with his arms tight to his side, shuffling his feet. He wore old sneakers with worn laces.

"Do you live here?" Jessica asked in an effort to distract him.

"Second floor, 216," he replied softly. In the other apartment next to Alyssa's. "Just moved in last month. I just don't spend too much time here."

"Tell us where you spend your time, Jake," Kilgrave said, showing Jessica the back cover of the book where the boy's name was written in neat script above a crudely drawn bird.

"At my parents' house," he answered, furrowing his brow. "Sometimes I stay for hours in the library,"

"And neither of those places are anywhere near here, are they?"

"No, I take the subway with this friend of mine since he's new to the city and doesn't know anyone else. Practically goes everywhere with me."

"Did he draw this bird?"

"Uh, yeah, he calls me Birdie sometimes because of how thin I am. Says if the wind blew hard enough, I'd fly away. Has some weird obsession with them."

"What's his name?"

"Marty Alcott."

"Be honest, is he coming by anytime soon?"

"He's in my apartment right now. He has a key."

Jessica and Kilgrave shared a glance. "Give me your key, Jake. "

Jake handed him his key and attempted to follow them up the stairs before Kilgrave commanded him to stay behind. Jessica grabbed his arm.

"He stays alive," she said sternly.

"Certainly," he said.

I'm serious, don't make him hurt himself."

"Got it."

They found Jake's apartment and unlocked the door to find a boy standing with his back to them. He was shorter than Jake was in height, but he stood taller in confidence. He stood shirtless, revealing a tattoo of a bird between his shoulder blades with its wings outstretched. Besides the tattoo, it wasn't hard to notice the wall of pictures in front of him. Kilgrave stepped forward to get a closer look at something besides the pictures of the eyes that bordered the rest. Bright blue eyes.

In the middle, there were pictures and maps possibly monitoring her whereabouts. It was Alyssa Ramos.

"Are you sure you want to strike so close to home again, man? Isn't that risky?" Marty asked.

"Stand still," Kilgrave demanded.

Marty visibly jolted before obeying. "What the fuck?"

"Tell the truth. Are you the Red Robin?"

"No, I'm part of him," he said slowly. "Jake's his other half."

"Jake?"

"Yeah, this was all his idea. He finds the victims, I carry it out. Sometimes, he comes to watch," he said. "Who are you?"

"Allow me to ask the questions," Kilgrave said. "Answer. Otherwise, shut up. Jessica, I have to go get Jake."

"I'll watch him," she said, nodding in understanding.

"Don't go anywhere," Kilgrave commanded him again, if only to make this easier for her.

As soon as he left the room, Jessica approached the wall and looked over the photos with interest. They depicted Alyssa doing everyday things, walking to work, reading her books, even just laughing.

Kilgrave came back with Jake in tow, looking stunned and uncertain. His gaze met Marty's.

"He told us," Jessica assured him.

"Yes, and now it's your turn to talk," Kilgrave said, turning to Jake. "Answer our questions honestly. Did you kill those women?"

"Yes," he said.

"Why?"

"They were beautiful," he answered hazily. "And they needed help."

"Explain."

"Rebecca was living with that abusive asshole. Alyssa's trying to get over a cocaine addiction. But I've been helping them! I talked to Rebecca everyday, gave Alyssa books and advice. I met this other girl at the library and the last girl lived a block from my parents' house. After Rebecca told me about pulling the gun on that dick, I kissed her, but she threw me out of her apartment. I called Marty and we broke into her place while she was sleeping."

"And were you planning to do the same to Alyssa?"

"Yes," he replied, his eyes roaming back to Marty.

"Because you like her?" Jessica asked.

"Because I loved them," he exclaimed. "All of them. I thought Alyssa could be the one, but she's too good for me. She's too good for anyone!" His eyes were wide. "They're better off dead than in a world like this."

"And where do you fit in, Marty?" Kilgrave asked, turning to him.

"I just like to watch them bleed," he shrugged. "That and the world restarts every time someone dies. It's spring again after everyone's done crying and everything changes. That's why we're the Red Robin. Spring follows us."

"You're hiding something," Jessica interjected. "Say the other reason."

"Jake and I belong together," he said with bright eyes. "He's the only one who knows the truth about me. I would do anything for him."

"Crazy fuckers," Jessica murmured, shaking her head.

"Go to the police, turn yourselves in, and give a full confession," Kilgrave ordered.

Jessica looked at him in surprise as the two boys left the room.

"What? I can control myself sometimes," he said, flushing slightly under her scrutiny. "Did I do it right?"

"For once."

He grinned with pride. "Does that mean I can choose the restaurant?"

"As long as it's not Chinese."

He took her to a diner, open twenty four hours. But it was definitely a step up from the bar and Chinese place she'd taken him to. It was cleaner than your average diner, but there were enough people inside to show that the food was well-liked. It was already nine o'clock at night when they settled into a booth and scanned their menus. The waitress that came to their table eyed Kilgrave with obvious interest before focusing on her notepad.

"Usual, fish and chips?" she asked with a similar accent to his.

"With tea," he said, barely sparing her a glance.

"And for your mate?" she asked.

"I'll have the steak, medium rare," Jessica said. "And I'm not his mate."

"Oh," she said, blinking. "And what would you like to drink?"

"Coke's fine," Jessica said, handing her the menu.

"It'll be out in a tick," the woman said with false cheer before flouncing off.

"You know she misunderstood."

"That's obvious," she sighed. "Still, it's weird you come to this place often enough to have a 'usual.' I thought you only went to five star restaurants."

"I found this little gem by mistake not long after I met you," he said. "I've come here once a week ever since. That woman started here last month after moving here from Surrey. And yes, I know she fancies me."

"And you don't encourage her?" Jessica asked, leaning forward. "She's cute, she likes you, what's the problem?"

"She's boring," he said, rolling his eyes. "I've tried to have a proper conversation with her, but it's like talking to cardboard. Making her do as I like doesn't even appeal to me."

"Kevin, do you have any ordinary relationships? You could hardly call us friends, and I've never seen you having a regular conversation with anyone else."

"I would consider us friends," he said, honestly confused.

"You don't subtly demand that your friends stay in touch," she challenged, her eyes leveling him with a glare. "Yeah, it took me a while, but I noticed. I just decided to pretend it never happened. I didn't actually think I'd see you again, but I thought I might need your number at some point so I kept it."

"I suppose I should apologize."

"At this point, I doubt you'd mean it. You're just trying to get on my good side to get me to do that favor for you."

"That's fair," he allowed. "Still, I could have been more straight-forward."

"But you weren't," she stressed.

"It was weeks ago," he complained. "I'm still learning! Doesn't that count for anything?"

"It does, but it doesn't mean I'm just going to let it go."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Wait," she suggested. "Forgiveness doesn't just happen. I'm not a saint. I didn't trust you to begin with, this didn't help."

He resisted the urge to make her do it as the waitress came back with their drinks.

Patience was a virtue he'd never needed to learn.

 **Yes, they solved the case a little too fast, but I don't want to make a fic entirely about the mystery of the Red Robin. Feel free to share your thoughts. I know it doesn't seem like Jessica did much for this case except find the addresses of the boyfriend and the first victim, but I'm still working through this fic! Eventually I might come back and edit this, maybe add a scene with her doing research. Anyway, thank you so much for the support, keep it up!**


	5. Wicked Game

**Another one of my shorter chapters with some non-com in the beginning, fair warning. Nonconsensual sex for those who don't know (just making sure). Scroll down to the page break if you don't want to read it. Thank you so much for the support, review!**

"Take off your clothes," he demanded, his voice strong in the otherwise silent room. They couldn't even hear the noises of traffic on the high floor they were staying on. She stood tall before him, her arms at her sides with a blank look in her eyes he enjoyed. Her eyes were always so filled with resistance and anger, it was nice to finally see then still and lovely. He stood up and cupped her cheek while meeting her gaze. She smelled of whiskey and that natural scent of hers that drove him mad. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, pupils dilated. "You want this, Jessie. Start with your shirt, then your jeans..."

She acquiesced without a word. It was slow and torturous to just watch her do it. He wanted to throw her down on the bed and help her, his fingers twitched to do so. But he wouldn't, not yet at least. Her eyes met his again, and he thought he saw a touch of her returning to fight him off, but she stepped out of her jeans and he was a tad distracted. The lingerie itself was cheap, meant more for practicality than attraction, but he felt himself harden nonetheless.

She awaited his orders. He sat back down.

"Come here and straddle me," he ordered. She obeyed and hung above him almost teasingly. But her eyes were still blank. "Kiss me like you love me."

Her lips met his and it was like she did. It was slow and chaste at first with just lips meeting lips, her hands gripping his shoulders, and his hands gripping her waist. It was the most sweetly he'd ever kissed a woman, but it didn't last. He wanted more. He gripped the hair at the base of her neck and pulled. Her mouth yielded to his, and his tongue found hers within a breath. He pulled away to pull her bottom lip into his mouth and suck on it briefly.

"You love me," he said, without much thought. "I'm the only one who understands you. How can anyone else understand the way you feel when you see the fear in their eyes when they know what you can do?"

"I love you," she breathed as if it was a revelation.

"Yes," he sighed, unhooking her bra and pulling the straps down her arms. Once it was out of the way, he took hold of her left breast and past his thumb over her nipple appreciatively. She shivered. He pulled her closer to pull her nipple between his lips and sucked it, gently at first before rolling it lightly between his teeth. She arched above him.

"Help me take off my clothes," he commanded. She got off of him a little unsteadily. He loosened his tie as he stood up and considered using it in a more interesting way before deciding against it. Maybe next time, he thought. Because this was their first.

She started in on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them as he took off his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. Eventually her fingers reached the bottom of the shirt and he stepped out of both his trousers and his pants before sliding his arms out of his sleeves. Finally, they were standing before one another, almost completely naked. He eyed the bit of cloth that covered her with distaste.

"Take it off," he mumbled. "And get on your knees."

She obeyed. And he was gifted with the sight of her complete submission. Because wasn't that what love was, submission? You give yourself entirely to the other person expecting nothing in return. Didn't that make this love?

Thinking that, he eyed her lips and imagined them wrapped around his cock. "Blow me," he husked.

She licked her lips and he had to fight the urge to throw her on the bed or just fuck her on the carpet. She pushed him back into the chair and took his hardened length in hand. He threw his head back at the first touch of her tongue to the underside of his cock. She took his balls in hand while wrapping her lips around only the tip. Soon, she was sliding him down her throat and he was gasping her name like a prayer.

"Stop," he yelled.

Immediately, she froze with him still in her mouth. He looked down at her and froze himself at the sight of her eyes. There were no eyes, just two sockets surrounded by long, dark lashes.

He woke in a cold sweat, his erection still calling for attention between his legs. It was an odd contrast to the dread he'd felt at the end of the dream. He groaned as he fisted himself to completion. His thoughts focused on her warm mouth and pale skin because if he thought of anymore than that, he would be faced with thoughts of her flashing eyes and indomitable will.

Even in his fantasies he was too afraid to face her without having some measure of control over her. But even the thought of her with blank eyes was too disturbing to contemplate.

The next day, he was supposed to meet her at the diner he'd taken her to the week before. She sat, hunched over, looking at her phone, with a frown of frustration marring her features. He was late. She received a text from Trish asking when she was free to go out for drinks.

Tomorrow night, she typed.

Why not tonight? Trish texted back. I know you don't have work.

Jessica had never told her about Kilgrave. Trish remembered Kevin, of course. But Jessica couldn't introduce the two of them to one another. What was she supposed to say? Thus is my friend, Kevin, yes, that Kevin, but he prefers to go by Kilgrave now since Murdercorpse was taken. First of all, he wasn't her friend by a long shot. He was a guy with issues who needed a handler.

Since she took too long to respond, Trish typed, Is it a guy?

Jessica snorted. Yeah, tall and skinny with a British accent that makes my toes curl.

As soon as she sent it, she regretted it. Trish called her. "A British accent that makes your toes curl?"

"Not in a good way," Jessica groaned. "We're not having sex, he's not even a friend! He's more like a stalker."

"And you're meeting him?" she asked. "How long have you known him?"

"Six weeks," Jessica said. "He's an asshole with mummy issues."

"Like every guy," Trish teased. "Why don't you bring him with you tomorrow night?"

Jessica shut her eyes. "You don't even know him, and you want to take him out for drinks?"

"He can't be too bad if you meet him for romantic dinners," she mocked.

"Yeah, diners just make me want to get naked," Jessica said sarcastically as she took a sip from the mug of black coffee the waitress had left. It was already late, but Jessica wasn't planning on getting much sleep.

"You're not at a bar?"

"Nah, he's too posh for my crappy dives," she said, purposely using the British slang. "Last time I took him to one, he nearly threw up before even walking inside."

"I'm surprised you're still around him then."

"He needs help," Jessica explained. "He's had a shitty life."

"So you feel sorry for him."

"No," Jessica was quick to protest. "He can take care of himself, which is sort of the problem."

"What do you mean?"

Jessica sighed. "I can't tell you."

"This must be pretty bad then."

"The worst," Jessica muttered, looking out the window and spotting him across the street. It wasn't too hard to spot the man in the purple suit. "He's like an overgrown baby."

As if on cue, his eyes met hers through the glass, and his lips mouthed something she couldn't make out from this far a distance. But before she could puzzle it out, he was yelling for the drivers to wait for him to cross the street before driving away.

Jessica huffed. "Trish, I have to go. See you back at the apartment?"

"With popcorn, you have to tell me about this guy."

"Only if he doesn't do anything that doesn't tempt me to kill him today," Jessica promised. "And I can't tell you everything."

"Fine, see you later," she said with obvious disappointment before hanging up. Both of our love lives were lacking.

Kilgrave walked in with less than the usual arrogance in his step. His hair was messier than she was used to and his eyes avoided hers as he sat down. He didn't say hello or even comment on his day. He was staring blatantly down at the menu he didn't have to read.

The waitress who'd served them last time stopped by the table. "Usual?" she asked him.

"Yes" was his lackluster response.

"Same as last time," Jessica said before she could ask. "And I need a refill."

"Be right back," she said sweetly.

"What's up with you today?" Jessica asked. "You look like someone ignored you for once."

He hesitated when he raised his eyes to find hers, but when they did a shaky breath left his lips. "Had a dream last night, and I don't particularly want to talk about it."

"Was it about me?" she asked.

"Yes and no."

"What does that mean?"

"When I control people, order them to do things, feel things, do you think they're still the same person?" he asked. "Do you think they're still a person at all?"

"Now is when you're asking this question?

"I've been making people do things most of my life," he said softly. "I've never controlled anyone long enough to know if I change them or if they would have done it anyway had I actually known them. Do they really just follow my orders like animated puppets?"

The waitress came back to refill Jessica's mug and set Kilgrave's tea in front of him. "Bad day?" she asked him.

"Tea always makes it better," he told her.

"Hope it improves, mate," she said before leaving.

"If I was controlling you right now, making you come to meet me every week, would you resent me underneath it all? If I told you you to feel something for me, would some part of you hate me for it?"

She blinked and thought about it. "If you told me to be your friend, I think some part of me would still be fighting to hate you however small it would be."

"Maybe," he agreed. He looked unusually worm and unkempt. She wondered what his dream had been about but didn't ask again.


	6. Layla

**Yes, another short update and it has been a while, but I've been busy for the past few weeks with family troubles and finals. I'll try to post another longer chapter later on this week, but enjoy this one and leave me a review!**

It came as a surprise the next day when an unknown number called her phone while she was out having drinks with Trish. They were in the middle of some sleazy club one of her lesser known guests had recommended. Despite the sketchy clientele and the crappy band doing a slower, softer version of Nirvana's Smells Like Teen Spirit, the drinks were actually pretty good even if Jessica didn't really care much about the taste.

Trish was paying so she threw back drinks like water and kept an eye on the douchebag checking her ass. "Hey, do you two do threesomes?" he slurred.

"Did you really just ask that?" Trish giggled. God, she is such a lightweight, Jessica thought.

"Fuck off," Jessica grumbled. She felt her phone vibrate and dug it out of her pocket. "Hello?"

"Hello," the voice answered cheerily.

Jessica's brow furrowed. "How did you get this number?"

"Nothing a few well-worded commands can't get me. Where are you?"

"You do realize this borders on stalking."

"How is it stalking if I'm asking where you are?"

"Not that, asshole. I mean how you found my number! There's a reason you didn't have it, this was one of them."

"Grey areas are so difficult," he scoffed. "How was I supposed to know? I'm still struggling with black and white! Letting murderers live is the right thing to do, but I can't call the woman who's helping me learn this stuff?"

"Kevin, I call you, you don't call me. Especially not when I'm enjoying my night."

"I'm almost certain lying is wrong," he mused. "And that band I hear in the background sounds bloody awful."

"You can't hear them that well over the phone," Jessica challenged.

"I can hear well enough to determine they're shite," he insisted. "And that tone in your voice doesn't strike me as delighted to be there."

"Maybe that's because I wasn't expecting a call from the Purple Man."

"Is that what you call me behind my back?"

"No, behind your back I call you a manipulative asshole."

"But I can't help that. What I can do is take you to a place with good music and great food."

"What I need is a night with my best friend in a shitty bar with great drinks that'll get me too drunk to care about the shitty music. Last time I checked shitty bars weren't your scene."

Trish tapped her on the shoulder and handed her a margarita. "The friend of that jerk bought us these drinks as an apology before dragging him out of here."

"Cheers to him," Jessica said before taking a sip. It was strawberry.

"Cheers to who?" Kilgrave asked.

"No one. Look, I saw you yesterday, why do you want to meet again today?" Don't tell me you did something you regret."

"No, I just thought it might be nice if we went out to get some dinner at this club an acquaintance of mine owns."

"Like a date?" Jessica snorted.

"No, as friends."

Jessica paused and felt Trish's eyes on her. Friends? "You're joking, right?"

"No, I've never taken a woman out to dinner without telling her to come with me. I'll even pay the check."

"Why?" Jessica couldn't help asking. He could be doing this just to manipulate her into doing him a favor, but still why would he want to take her out as a friend? "We go out to dinner together every week, why are you suddenly calling me on my phone and asking me out as a friend? Is this about that favor you wanted to ask me to do?"

"No, I just wanted some company," she could practically see him wince at how needy that sounded. "Usually I wouldn't do this, but some nights..."

"Why not just order your neighbor to come over and listen to you rant?" she sniped though she could feel herself waning.

"I would have thought that was against the rules. Though, if you don't want to, I suppose I could always ease my loneliness with this lovely cellist or there's also this other woman with a gorgeous smile "

She couldn't be sure if he was serious. In the background she didn't hear any noise. Then, the sound of a bow against strings broke the silence. "You've kidnapped someone."

"No, I paid her in advance. But I wonder how long she can play without making a mistake..."

"I'll meet you at the diner. Send her home. This place better have alcohol."

"Only the best for you, Jess." With that he hung up.

"Trish, I have to go," Jessica grumbled.

"Trouble with the guy you haven't told me about?"

"What can I say? He's obsessed with me," Jessica said, taking out a ten dollar bill and handing it to Trish. "Have some on me."

"Ok, you're forgiven, but you still need to tell me about him."

"I will when he gets off my back," Jessica promised.

"What if he never does?" Trish asked ominously.

Jessica didn't answer.

The bar he took her to was much better than she'd expected. Walking in, the low lighting gave an otherworldly feel to the room. The patrons weren't nearly as suspicious, keeping their hands and eyes to themselves. Some appeared to be artists or hipsters, college kids with rich parents. But the main clientele were business men and women still in their suits after endless days at the office. Wall Street wasn't far, she realized.

The main entertainment was the black man playing the guitar on stage singing an incredible cover of Eric Clapton's Layla. The place didn't make her feel uncomfortable at all despite the odd mixture of customers.

"Who did you say owned this place?" she asked him.

"Oh, I don't actually know him, I just said all that to get you to come out with me tonight! Wasn't it obvious?"

It was, she realized. "So, how did you find out about this place?"

"The cellist told me about it before I let her go," he said dismissively.

"So you weren't lying about the cellist?"

"What cellist?" he asked jokingly. "Aw, come on! It wasn't like I was actually going to hurt her! The poor little thing was petrified even after I let her go."

"You've been keeping a cellist," she said flatly.

"I haven't been keeping her exactly," he mumbled. "I told you I paid her."

She glanced up at him in surprise. "Is that guilt I see?"

"Nope, just a trick of the light. Sit down, I'll go get your whiskey." And he was off in a flash.

She sat down in one of the booths lit only by a candle as all the tables were. The spotlight hitting the stage was the only real source of lighting. Was it guilt? No, probably not, but it was the start of something. Could this sociopath actually feel something for anyone else?

He came back rather quickly with a bottle and a couple of glasses. He avoided her gaze and poured for them both before settling across from her with his eyes fixed on the man expertly strumming his guitar.

"Kevin, why were you so desperate to take me out tonight?" she asked. "This isn't like you."

"Because you're the only one I can talk to, alright?" he snapped. "Doesn't that makes us mates, friends, buddies, whatever you want to call it?"

"Kevin, do you even care about me?" Jessica asked carefully. Usually she didn't get into this touchy feely crap with anyone other than Trish, but this was important. "Do you care about what's going on in my life at all? Who my friends are? What my job is?"

"Of course I care," he scoffed, taking a sip from his glass.

"Then why don't you ever ask about me?"

"Because you wouldn't talk about yourself even if I did," he murmured, omitting the part about having someone look into her life. "Giving your own life for mine would be natural for you because I'm a person you know. You haven't trusted me enough to expect the same from me."

"That's ridiculous," Jessica lied, throwing back the glass and letting the whiskey burn her throat.

"Then why don't you ever invite me over?" he demanded. "Why haven't I met any of your friends? You've been controlling everything up until now because you haven't trusted me."

"If you want to see my friends so badly, why don't you just tell me to introduce you?" she asked.

"Because I can't!" he exclaimed. "I've never directly told you to do anything! Why can't you just give me a chance?"

"I don't know what your motive is," she said. "You said you wanted a favor, but you won't tell me what it is. How can you expect me to trust you with an axe hanging over my head?"

"It isn't that bad, really," he said, but his gaze still wasn't meeting hers.

"What is it?" she demanded. "Say it or I'm leaving."

"There's this woman," he started with his eyes on the stage. "She used to work at the same laboratory as my parents. She has this flash drive I need to get back from her and I just need someone I trust to help me with this."

"All you want is a flash drive," she confirmed. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"Because I'm not sure what's going to happen. She's married and there could be complications... And sometimes I can't control what I say when I'm angry. Lately, I've been careful but sometimes it's like it's the power that takes control, not me."

"Kevin, it's okay," she reassured him. "When do you think you'll be ready to find the flash drive?"

"Not for another few months. We need to learn their schedules to reduce the risk of the husband walking in while we're with her. We need to learn when she gets home and leaves for work. We need to do research to confirm that this is really her. It's been weeks since we've learned the name but she could be living under a different name or stealing someone else's identity. If not, then what's the rush? She's already settled down with a husband."

"I guess so," Jessica mused. "Do you think the drive could be in the apartment?"

"I've already had my men look there. If it is, it's well-hidden."

"Do you really need my help with this?" she asked. "It sounds like you could do it yourself."

"No, no, I can't," he said, shaking his head. "I need you there. I know you can't completely trust me yet, but would you at least consider helping me?"

She took another sip from her glass after pouring a little more into the glass. It might have been her imagination but he seemed to be holding something back. But she knew that he was being honest about the fact that he couldn't do this without her. His hands were wrapped around the glass tightly and his eyes were still on the stage. No, she didn't completely trust him yet, but it was a relief to finally learn what he wanted from her.

"I'll think about it," she said lowly.

He grinned widely and raised his glass to touch hers. "Well, then, here's to hope and budding friendships."

She couldn't resist smirking a bit at that.

On the stage, the guitarist finished the song with a flourish and the final words: "Layla, darling, won't you ease my worried mind."


	7. You've Got a Friend in Me

The two idiots who were robbing the convenience store were amateurs at best. They appeared to be two high school students who fumbled with the gun even as they pulled it on the cashier. Jessica didn't even need to say a word. She delivered a weak hit to the one who didn't hold the gun and he was knocked out in seconds. The other one dropped the gun and made it to the door before Kilgrave stopped him with a sharply-delivered command.

"Delete whatever footage you have of us," he told the shocked cashier. "We don't need the attention."

"Th-thank you," the cashier stuttered out.

"Now," Kilgrave said in reply.

"It wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer," Jessica muttered as she grabbed a six pack of beer from the back.

"We're in a bit of a hurry," Kilgrave snapped. "Patsy's waiting for us, isn't she?"

"With bells on."

"Yes, I'm sure she was ecstatic to learn that you've been helping me."

Jessica avoided his gaze and pulled her wallet out to pay for the snacks. "Yeah, definitely."

"She doesn't know she's seeing ms again, does she?"

"Not exactly. She just knows you're some British guy with mummy issues who needs help."

"But you never told her we've met before?"

"Nope, I think she'll figure it out when she recognizes you."

"How do you plan to explain? I don't imagine her being pleased to see me again."

Jessica paid for everything and didn't answer until they were back on the subway. Usually Kilgrave would turn down just the suggestion of public transportation, but this was Jessica's condition for him meeting Trish and being allowed into her apartment. She'd never actually expected him to agree. He wouldn't sit next to her, claiming he couldn't know what else had been in that chair, but otherwise he didn't complain.

"As long as you don't make her do anything, it should be fine. You two haven't seen each other in years so I'm sure it won't be that big a deal."

"As I remember it, you two didn't get along. You tolerated her," he mused. "What changed?"

"We grew up," Jessica answered. "I scared her mom into never touching her again, and we just got closer. Now, we're living together."

"I don't imagine you two have much in common."

"Sometimes opposites attract. We're almost like actual sisters now."

"So, am I allowed to say anything beyond hello?"

"If you can't say anything nice, shut the fuck up," she said.

"Am I allowed to stay for dinner?"

"Only if we make it past introductions without her attempting to hurt you," Jessica compromised. "Which is pretty unlikely with your charm and personality. It's a miracle you've survived this long."

"Maybe I do have some effect on you then," he casually suggested, looking down at her.

She snorted. "In your dreams. It takes more than a few saved lives and shitty meals for me to give a guy like you a chance."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. I'll settle for a tenuous friendship."

"Since we're friends, can I tell you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Purple is really not your color."

Arriving, Trish greeted Jessica at the door enthusiastically. But the second her eyes met Kilgrave's, her smile fell and her eyes darted to Jessica warily.

"What's he doing here?" she asked. "Please tell me that's not who I think it is. He hasn't changed much."

"Oh, good, it's nice to know I made such an impression on you the last time we met," Kilgrave said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Great seeing you again, Patsy, I do enjoy your talk show."

"Trish," she spat. "It's Trish."

"And I'm Kilgrave. Now, that we're through with the introductions, mind if I join you for dinner?" he asked somewhat politely.

Trish's eyes darted back to Jessica, and it wasn't hard to notice her feeling of betrayal.

"Go make yourself comfortable, Kevin," Jessica said and shut the door behind him, leaving her and Trish alone in the hall. She knew she would regret telling him that later, just as she now regretted bringing him at all.

Trish crossed her arms and waited.

"You wanted to meet him," Jessica said weakly in her own defense.

Trish's lips thinned. "You neglected to mention we've met before."

"Okay, maybe I missed that crucial fact, and maybe I could have warned you. But I never thought you two would meet again!"

"Whether you thought we would meet again or not, you shouldn't be around him at all! There's the little problem of his ability to make people do whatever the fuck he wants. How do I know you're not under his influence right now?And even if you aren't, am I just supposed to be okay with him being in my apartment? Did you forget him taking away my voice? Because I sure as hell didn't."

"Trish, that's the reason I'm around him in the first place," Jessica sighed. "I don't really think I can change him. He's Kilgrave now, he's fucked up for life. But we're kind of friends, and he just didn't know how to help people. He didn't know how to use his powers to benefit anyone besides himself. But lately, he's been helping me save people. A lot of people. He'll always be a selfish bastard, but at least now I can rest a little better knowing he can control himself well enough not to lose complete control."

"How do you know he's not just lying or pretending?"

"How can I know if anyone's being honest?" Jessica challenged. "I can't, but so far he hasn't ordered me to do anything. Just give him a chance. It's not like I'm not saying we should have him over all the time."

Trish checked her watch and mumbled, "Fine, the pizza's getting here in ten minutes anyway. We eat and he leaves."

"Deal," Jessica agreed. "Wait, pizza? Not one of your healthy meals?"

"It's been a long day," Trish groaned as she opened the door. "And you just made it longer."

"I'm sorry," Jessica winced. "He'll be gone in less than an hour, I promise."

"I hope so, you owe me another night of drinks after this."

They found him lounging on the sofa with a beer open in his hand. His phone was in his hand, but he turned it off as soon as he saw them coming back into the living room. Jessica tried not to notice how well he fit inside Trish's living room, practically posing on his end of the couch. Jessica took the spot beside him and Trish stayed standing under the pretense of checking her own text messages on the other end of the room.

"She doesn't want me here," he remarked.

"What did you expect?"

"More shouting. To be honest, I didn't expect to make it past the front door."

"Then why come at all?"

"Because I was curious," he replied. "And because she didn't know about me."

"She didn't need to know about you," Jessica mumbled.

"Now, I'm still new to this whole morality thing, but aren't secrets between close friends bad?" he asked innocently.

"Not if you're hiding something to protect them."

"But how can you know they need to be protected and what they need to be protected from?"

"Stop it," Jessica retorted. "You're trying to make me doubt myself."

"Is it working?" he asked, leaning closer to her.

She shoved him away with a glare. She was tempted to use this chance to ask him what he'd been hiding from her about the favor, but instead what came out was, "No, it's not. Because secrets never stay secrets for long anyway."

Trish chose that moment to join them and tell them about the next guest she would have on the show, a popular novelist who wrote about controversial issues like suicide and abortion. She made sure to speak in a measured voice and kept her eyes on Jessica. It wasn't hard to guess what she was doing. Ten minutes later, the pizza arrived, and, not one to be ignored, Kilgrave stood to answer it.

"I'll get it," Trish argued. "It's our apartment."

"Yes, it is, but I wouldn't want you to cut your conversation short, and I am the guest who ruined your night. It's the least I could do."

Trish clenched her hands into fists. "Fine."

He beamed at her in a manner she found infuriating before pulling open the door and paying for the pizza. When he brought the box back to them, she watched him warily. "What?" he asked. "I paid."

"With whose money?" she questioned.

He glanced at Jessica. "Not entirely sure, to be honest. Whose money were you going to pay him with? Or was yours freshly printed?"

She grabbed two beers for her and Jessica from the fridge. "Okay, so why pay at all then? Couldn't you have just told him to go away or something?"

"Yes, but that would have been wrong. Right, Jessica?"

Jessica smirked. "Correct, young grasshopper."

"So, you really are teaching him morals?" Trish asked.

"Trying to," Jessica said. "It doesn't make him any less of a prick, but he is learning."

"Should I take that as a compliment?" he asked. "I'm not exactly flattered."

"You're not supposed to be, I was just being honest," she shrugged. "I don't expect you to change into Jesus after just a month. Or at all, really. I'd settle for just you never killing again."

"I think I could manage that," he nodded. "Especially, seeing as I've never killed anyone before."

Jessica glared at him. "Do we have to go over this again?"

"Maybe I've made a few mistakes," he acknowledged. "But all I ever did was say the wrong thing! Being around you has taught me that I need to be more careful with my words and have better control over my impulses."

"That's an improvement, at least," Jessica told Trish.

"I can only imagine how he was before," Trish agreed.

"Some gratitude for paying for this would be nice," he said, opening the box to grab the first slice.

"Thanks," Trish replied and got her own piece.

The three of them finished the pizza as they finished their discussion on morals. Somehow, this led back to Trish's guest.

"Her latest book is on the death penalty," Trish said. "Where do you stand on that?"

"Are you trying to have an argument?" he asked.

"Depends on where you stand," she countered, her eyes glinting. "But really, it would be more of a debate than an argument."

"Well, obviously there are some people who don't deserve to live," he said. "But then, as Jessica's repeatedly told me, who are we to make that call""

"So, you're against the death penalty, then?"

"I can't really say. On the one hand, some prisoners wish for it while some would rather be stuck in jail for the rest of their lives."

"Which would you prefer?" Trish asked out of curiosity.

"Life, obviously. I could come and go as I please, and I would get a free show out of it."

"Shouldn't have asked," Jessica said, rolling her eyes.

"Good thing he lives in New York," Trish commented.

"If he doesn't change by the time I'm done with him, I'll knock him out and ship him to Texas."

"I'll help."

"I'm sitting right here," he reminded them.

"It was a warning," Jessica explained to him as Trish gathered their bottles along with the pizza box to throw them away.

He just rolled his eyes and stood to stretch over his head. "I'll never have to worry about the death penalty, Jessica."

"I know you won't," Jessica said sweetly. "Because if you screw up, I'll kill you."

"What else are friends for?" he asked sarcastically.

"Hell if I know, Trish is my only other friend and that's because of her mother."

"We can still assume that this is a very twisted friendship."

"Yes, yes, we can."

An hour later, after an awkward goodbye to both Trish and Jessica, he was back in "his" penthouse apartment with a glass of wine in one hand and a copy of that novel Trish had mentioned earlier. All in all, the author had done adequate research and the story was poignant enough to bring a tear to the average reader's eye. Kilgrave was not the average reader.

In his mind, he tore the story to pieces. The protagonist, the prisoner, was weak, submitting to his fate. His wife leaves him, and all he has to say for himself is he deserves it, Kilgrave scoffed. He wouldn't do that. All his life, he'd fought and taken all he could get his hands on. Natural selection hadn't just been a theory in his mind. Jessica had been an example of that in his adolescent years.

Jessica, he thought. She fought for everything, everyone, even those who didn't even deserve it. Yes, he was learning that others' lives meant just as much as his did, but it was hard remembering that without remembering her. She was getting to him. Even here on "his"'balcony as he enjoyed a glass of red wine.

The apartment itself was empty of its actual owners. Why had he made them all leave the moment he'd made them let him stay? Was it the thoughtless look in their eyes that now disturbed him? Was it their empty replies?

His evening ruined, he drank the rest of his wine in a single gulp and threw away the book he'd found on their bookshelf. Usually reading such things would have him chuckling, but that night it left him feeling worn. The apartment belonged to a childless couple who enjoyed such touching novels based on true stories. Their bookshelf was full of them. It was incredible what living in other people's worlds could teach you about them.

For example, thus couple had a nursery ready for a child that might never come. Painted yellow with stuffed animals crowded in a corner of the room and charts with numbers and the alphabet raped to the walls. He wondered if his nursery had looked like this or if his nursery had always been made up of flat, white walls and surgical tools. He'd always thought of people like this as dolls or characters in his story that he could manipulate.

Remembering he'd thought the same of Trish in his teenage years and when he'd read the information gathered by his private investigator, he wondered what had changed when he'd actually met her again? Why did he no longer see her as a pawn?

Now he could see he'd disrupted their lives. Seeing the nursery was like a revelation that made him realize why the couple's eyes had stirred him so deeply. They reminded him of what Jessica's had looked like in the nightmare.


End file.
